


Crowley gets Played

by Santillatron



Series: Just what do a retired Angel and Demon do with their time anyway? [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is a bastard (Good Omens), Crowley isn’t the only one who’s going to get played, Humour, M/M, Mischief, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron
Summary: Aziraphale discovers crosswords and loves them, but sometimes needs Crowley's less rigid way of thinking to get the answers.The opportunity for mischief presents itself, and, well, Aziraphale's a bit of a bastard isn't he?





	Crowley gets Played

Aziraphale had discovered crosswords. And naturally he had loved them, although his lifetime of rigid thinking had resulted in him asking Crowley for help with some of the more nuanced clues. Crowley didn’t mind too much, it was a pleasant way to spend an evening at the bookshop, and the face that his Angel pulled when he was thinking was quite possibly the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. Brows furrowed, lips slightly pursed, and his gaze either on his paper or at the ceiling as he interrogated his vast vocabulary to find the answers. The thing was, Crowley was better at asking the right questions. Aziraphale preferred to write with a pencil, which he tapped against the corner of his mouth when he was at his most vexed. It was hypnotising. 

Crowley suddenly realised that the Angel was looking at him expectantly. 

“Sorry, wasn’t paying attention…”

“When is it a good time to argue with people on the internet?” Aziraphale repeated. 

“What?!” Crowley asked, rather confused.

“Six down. Five letters. When is it a good time to argue with someone on the internet?”

“Never Angel. It’s never a good time.” Crowley sighed. Aziraphale had never got the hang of modern technology. 

“Oooooh! Oh of course. Thank you dear.” Aziraphale’s face had lit up and he scribbled onto the paper. “I never did get my head around the internet. Good job I have you!” He laughed. 

Crowley merely rolled his eyes. The internet had started as a heavenly endeavour, designed to share knowledge and encourage enlightenment, but it turns out shared knowledge encouraged all sorts of other things as well, so Hell had taken it over, and frankly, even they were disgusted at what they found in the darker corners. 

“I’m a walking firewall Angel.” Crowley concluded. 

“Except when you’re slithering, you wily old serpent.” Aziraphale allowed himself a smirk at that.

“Touché Angel.” He conceded fondly, mostly so he could see the happy little wiggle the Angel made. 

“Ah, this one is ‘up your drive’ as they say-“

“‘Street’ Angel, ‘up your street’…”

“Exactly. How would you intend to do something informally?” The Angel asked.

“Read it properly…” Crowley sighed. 

“Fine… eight down, five letters. It just says ‘intend to’, then it says ‘informally’ in brackets.” Aziraphale managed to keep most of the irritation out of his voice. 

“Oh, right” Crowley thought for a moment. “‘Gonna’. G O N N A. How’s that up my street?”

“Ah yes, that fits. I never would have got that myself, Thank you dear.” Aziraphale admitted. “You are the personification of ‘informal’ dearest. You even manage to make a waistcoat look casual.” Aziraphale looked fondly at his Demon, who was lounging rather informally on the sofa.

“Aziraphale, pretty much everyone looks informal next to you and your bow tie.” Crowley retorted, which earned him a slightly stern look.

“I just like to look smart. An Angel has to look the part. Now what the Devil is a ‘Telethon’?” He asked.

“S’one of those things they do on the television where they spend hours pleading with people to donate to some cause or another. Probably is one of Hell’s to be fair.” Crowley hated them, and had only given to a few that looked interesting. Not that he would ever admit it. “Why?”

“Hmmm. ‘Donate’ doesn’t fit. I’ve only got four letters.” Aziraphale was tapping the pencil on his lips again. 

“How about ‘give’?” Crowley proffered. 

“Perfect! Again, television is not my area of expertise.” 

“I’m beginning to think crosswords aren’t either…” muttered Crowley, too quiet for the Angel to hear. 

“Oh finally! One I can do! Modern version of ‘thou’. Oh I did like they way they spoke in those days. Don’t you miss it? It was so…”

“‘You’.” Interrupted Crowley. When the Angel started on this sort of reverie it could be endless. 

Aziraphale harrumphed as he carefully wrote it in. 

“Well what about this one then. ‘On a higher level’ but it’s only two letters. Do you think a foul fiend such as yourself could get that concept?”

“Easy” said Crowley confidently. “‘Up’. Now are you done? Lunch is waiting.”

“Nearly. Last two. Old term for a bale of straw or hay - four letters, second one is ‘i’, then six letters, ‘like a cigar’.” Aziraphale said, and looked at the Demon expectantly. Had Crowley been paying more attention he would have seen the barest hint of a smug, playful grin that the Angel was trying his hardest to suppress. 

Crowley held his chin in thought. 

“Hmmmmmm. Oh! Rick, and rolled…” Then as Aziraphale’s gleeful expression caught his eye he cast his mind back over the answers he’d given. 

“Oh you bastard.” Crowley said, laughing. But it was worth it, the Angel was positively squirming with delight. “You know I started that? And now I’ve been played at my own game. Well played Angel. Now can we please get drunk?” 

“I thought it might have been you. Take me to lunch, and we can raid the cellar later.” Aziraphale promised through his own laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> TOTALLY NOT SORRY! :D


End file.
